


Ice King

by Singerdiva01



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1950633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singerdiva01/pseuds/Singerdiva01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the air conditioner goes out on Colonial One Tom Zarek has something Laura Roslin wants. (Written for the BSG kink prompt, 'Roslin/Zarek, ice.')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice King

“Where did you get that ice, Mr. Vice President?”

Tom looked up at the president innocently, munching louder on the substance in question. For the first time since he’d known Roslin she looked less than perfect. Her hair hung limp, sticking to her forehead just near her temple, and her threadbare white blouse was molded to her body, giving him a view of the lacy pink bra underneath.

A bead of sweat dripped down her neck and started the journey toward the nook between her breasts. He wanted to jump across the table and lick it off but he fished another cube out of his cup with his fingers and and brought it up to his mouth to suck instead. 

“Brought it over from the _Astral Queen_ ,” he explained calmly, licking the refreshing moisture off his lips slowly. “Nothing wrong with our cooling systems over there.” 

She hummed in annoyance and looked back down at the report on her desk. As a man of the people he had to admire Roslin’s steadfast insistence that _Colonial One_ take its place in line for repairs to its air conditioner rather than taking her bulldog up on the offer to fix the problem post haste. 

As a man, he appreciated the chance to see the icy president looking like she’d melt for a taste of the relief only he could offer. 

He bided his time, watching with interest when Laura finally gave up vanity and deftly pulled her hair up onto her head, jabbing a pencil into the auburn tresses to keep it in place. It seemed to help for a few minutes but the ship had truly become an oven and she was soon waving a discarded folder in front of her face like a fan. 

He got up casually, like he was going for water, and made his way around her desk. She was so engrossed in her work she didn’t realize he was right behind her until he was running the ice cube down the back of her neck. 

She jumped and turned her head to glare up at him. He grinned, the smile proven to disarm even the most hostile enemy, and continued rubbing the coveted cube on her skin. 

The ice was melting fast and he knew the droplets were snaking down her back, catching on the fabric of her bra before they could reach her underwear. His cock twitched at the thought of removing that barrier. 

Once the lucky piece of ice had melted to barely a nub he found another and reached around to rub it down the side of her neck before coming to rest in that amazing spot at her collar bone. 

She moaned, he knew involuntarily, and closed her eyes for a split second before snapping them open and glaring at him once again. 

“Mr. Zarek, what are you doing?”

Her voice wasn’t as haughty as usual, though he could tell she wanted it to be, and his cock jumped again. 

“Serving the president, ma’am,” he replied with a quirk of his eyebrow. He never called her that, she knew it, and yet as he continued downward to rub the ice on her pale chest she made no reply other than to look back down at her work. 

With the next piece of ice he made his move. He quickly positioned his fingers just inside her blouse so they we touching her bra. After just a second of contact with her hot skin the cube was melting, the droplets wetting her blouse. 

Her hand shot up and grabbed his wrist, stilling him in place. 

“Mr. Zarek, you do not think me so desperate that I’d frak you again for a piece of ice?”

He smiled behind her back. It was the addition of ‘again’ that assured him, _almost_ completely, she wasn’t going to toss him out the airlock for his next remark. 

“No, Madame President,” he reassured, his voice silky and low. “But you’re thinking about it. You’re thinking about me running this piece of ice around one nipple…”

He paused to make his way into the fabric of her bra and do just that. She groaned and leaned back, the top of her head coming into contact with his stomach.

“And the other,” he continued, moving to the other and tracing a slow circle. 

When she didn’t move her head or call for her guards he spoke again. 

“And then tracing this little ice cube all the way down to your underwear.”

Laura’s breath hitched and he knew he had her. Their one frak on New Caprica involved a piece of ice, also in high demand on that frakking planet, his mouth, and his cool tongue swirling around her pearl until she screamed his name to the rocks surrounding the river. 

“Ohhh,” she breathed, her eyes closed. He moved the cube down her flat stomach, pausing to circle it around her navel. 

“It _is_ cooler in my quarters than in this office,” she conceded breathily. 

“Is that so?”

He waited, holding his trump card just above the fabric of her underwear. 

“Yes, Tom,” she whispered, finally opening her eyes to look up at him. The mixture of hate and desire he found there had him so hard he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk there. 

His cup of ice melted as they frakked, save the few pieces he used to eat her to a screaming climax. He left her sleeping naked and peaceful on her cot, her body covered in a sheen of sweat not entirely brought on by her ship’s malfunction. 

He was disappointed but not surprised to learn the next day the president had asked the admiral to intervene and fix the cooling system ahead of schedule after all.


End file.
